


A Loss

by ipretendimawriter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: i feel like i should apologize because who does this, sherlock and john only mentioned, this is not what this started out as, this might be bad i havent written in awhile but this kind of flowed out of me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 19:59:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11238120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ipretendimawriter/pseuds/ipretendimawriter
Summary: The Holmes men experience a catastrophic event.





	A Loss

The young man opened the door quickly, nearly bursting into the room. Mycroft’s head snapped up, his brow furrowing at the interruption.

“Terry, please excuse me,” Mycroft stalked over to the young intern, who he though had so much promise, but was clearly wrong. Who in his right mind would interrupt a meeting with the Prime Minister without even so much as knocking. “What is it?” The eldest Holmes asked. A sickly look fell on the young boys face as his mouth began to move.

“Mr. Holmes,” He said. “It’s your mother.”

Mycroft’s day seemed to move all at once as the phrase left the young secretary’s mouth. His meeting with the Prime Minister seemed entirely unimportant, as did the future of England.

What was a world like without Mummy, Mycroft thought.

He left the room without excusing himself, his phone immediately dialing the one person who was worth his time.

“Sherlock.” Mycroft’s mind was moving faster than his lips could comprehend.

“Brother mine?”

“It’s mummy.” The elder Holmes brother could hear the phone fall to the ground as Sherlock sprinted in, he presumed, the direction of St. Bart’s.

Mycroft hesitated for only a moment, opting to drive himself.

“Mr. Holmes, I advise-“

“I advise you stop right there. If your mother was- was-“ Mycroft’s mind raced. “Was something, you’d do everything you could to get to her as quickly as possible.” He pulled away hastily and arrived at the hospital in what seemed like hours.

“The keys are in the ignition.” He yelled to the valet as he ran past him.

Mycroft hated running, but for his mother, he would run forever.

 

* * *

 

 

“How could this happen?”

“Mycroft, you know she never liked to make a fuss,” His father solemnly said. “She figured it would all be alright.”

A long pause resonated louder than words could. As he stood next to his unconscious and ailing mother, his father slid an arm around his shoulder, something Mycroft never thought he would appreciate. They stood over her, a solemn look on their faces before a soft admission left Mycroft’s mouth.

“I don’t know how to do it without her.” He whispered it as his lips neared quivering and his eyes threatening tears.

“Neither do I.” A tear slid down his father’s face.

Mycroft looked at his father just as a blur of black curls became apparent in the hall.

“What happened? What’s going on? Father? Mycroft?” All of Sherlock’s questions came out as one continuous blur of words.

“Cancer, Sherlock. Bone,” He nearly choked on the word. “And it has spread.” The worry and panic on the younger man’s face was apparent. It reminded Mycroft of Sherlock as a child, when he was just his baby brother and there were no politics. Before Moriarty and Magnussen. Before Mary or John or Greg. Greg.

He excused himself and stepped into the hallway as Sherlock grabbed their mother’s chart and began reading furiously. A text was all he could manage.

_Something has come up. Won’t make it to dinner tonight. I apologize. –M_

The criminals must have taken a night off, for the detective inspector responded nearly immediately.

_Everything alright? Made your favorite for dinner. Let me know if I should keep it warm or pack it up. –G_

Mycroft smiled.

_What exactly is my favorite? –M_

_Cornish pasty –G_

Mycroft sighed. He hadn’t eaten since 6 am and as he glanced at his watch, slowly ticking past 11 pm, he was reminded he was only human.

_Would you bring me one? –M_

_Where to love? –G_

_Bart’s –M_

Almost as soon as he sent it his phone rang.

“Ah Gregory, funny to hear from you.” He attempted humor in the face of the worst scene in his life, Greg didn’t buy it.

“Why are you at Bart’s? Are you alright? Is Sherlock alright?”

“Yes, Gregory. I am alright and Sherlock is well.”

“Oh,” A lengthy pause proceeded, the confusion-laced question the gray haired man was preparing to ask. “Why are you at Bart’s then?” Mycroft sighed as he rubbed at his eyes for the hundredth time since receiving the news.

“Mummy is not well.”

“I’m coming.”

“Gregory.” Mycroft protested.

“This is not a discussion,” The policeman insisted. “I will be there in 10 minutes or so. I love you, My.”

“I love you as well.” The phone clicked and moments later Sherlock walked out of the room.

“Mycroft.”

“Yes?” A smirk rose to the face of the younger Holmes.

“Couldn’t bear to leave your beloved out of anything? Did you even look at the chart before calling Gavin? They have no plan. They have no answers. Run the government and cannot simply-“

“Enough, Sherlock. I will not play this game with you. Not now.” The elder Holmes gave Sherlock a look he placed with the first time Mycroft found him high. He suddenly realized that no matter the face Mycroft put on, he was just as scared as Sherlock.

The younger man lost his mask as his shoulders sunk and face grew worried, as if for the first time he realized the direness of the situation

“How do we do this without her, Mycroft?” He stared his older brother in the face, searching his eyes for answers. A defeated look came across the older man’s face and a sigh followed.

“I don’t know, Sherlock. I just- I don’t know.” A somber silence fell over the brothers as they searched each other for the answers they would never find.

“Boys,” Their father’s voice rang out in the silence. The two looked at him, an innocent look in their eyes. “She’s asking for you.” Tears were evident on the man’s face, but the two rushed in to see their mother in an unusual state.

She was frail and looked weaker than moments before.

“Mummy,” Mycroft whispered, tears threatening to fall.

“Mikey,” A weak smile came to his mother’s lips as her hand reached out for him, Mycroft clinged to her soft hand. Sherlock lingered at the door way, a panicked look settling on his features.

“Sher,” She called out for him and he stepped closer.

“I’m here, Mummy.” She smiled at this comment.

“My boys.” A teary smile settled on the three men’s faces.

“No crying now, you hear. I lived a good life. Married a good man,” She glanced at her husband, squeezing his hand a little tighter. “And I had the greatest children you could ask for.” She smiled at the apples of her eye and squeezed Mycroft’s hand.

She looked tired and helpless. And although Mycroft and Sherlock knew everything to know in this world, at that moment, they knew not what to do nor what to say.

A doctor came in. The youngest Holmes stepped out of the room.

Greg rounded the corner with a container of pastries in his hand, his eyes looking for Mycroft.

Mycroft excused himself. He had read the chart. There were no answers or remarkable decisions to be made. Only the inevitable end.

“Myc.” He wrapped his arms around his other half and pulled him in close. He felt Mycroft sink into his embrace and sigh.

“I- Gregory, I-“ His voice waivered as his eye sight distorted with tears. Greg hugged him tighter and stroked his head.

“Everything is gonna be alright, My.”

“No,” Mycroft pushed away from Greg, the tears falling freely now. “It is not going to be alright, Gregory. My mother is dying. The one person, through all of my actions, through everything I have been through, she has been there. She has never questioned me, only advised differently. Everything with Sherlock, and Moriarty. Hell, even with you. Everything I have ever been through that woman knows. She may call me Mikey, and bother me with unimportant things constantly. But, dammit, she’s my mother. And she’s dying.”

“My-“ Alarms blared, doctors and nurses rushed into the room. Mr. Holmes was quickly rushed out with his boys questions flying at him.

“What’s going on? Dad, what is going on? Why are they-“ The questions stopped as their father looked at them both, a hopeless look on his face.

“Mr. Holmes?” The three looked up as the doctor spoke. “She doesn’t have long and she’s requested we let her go without a fight. I’d say what needs to be said and tell her what needs to be said. I’m sorry to say, but this is the end.” The doctor walked away and left the Holmes men in pool of despair.

“Da?” Sherlock questioned.

“She’s going. Not with a bang, but with a whimper.” The eldest Holmes walked in, followed by his two sons.

“Mikey?”

“Yes, Mummy?”

“Is Gregory here?” Mycroft’s brow furrowed as he nodded. He walked out of the room to Greg, who was standing in the hall, Sherlock and their father followed.

“She wants to speak with you.” Greg searched the Holmes’ men faces before slowly entering.

“Mrs. Holmes, it’s Greg.” The woman smiled and reached for his hand, which Greg softly enclosed in his own.

“My boys have never quite fit in, Gregory. Always to smart or outspoken. Some, not me but some, would even say rude,” A smile fell on Greg’s face. Even in her ailing state she defended her sons. “And no matter how much they denied it, I know it always bothered them. It is only human nature to be wanted and to fit in. Before I go I had to thank you.”

“Thank me for what?” Greg asked curiously.

“You made my boys feel like they belonged. Like, even with all their problems, they were good enough for you and everyone else. For that, I will be forever grateful. I do, however, have one thing to ask of you.” Greg straightened at this sentence and nodded his head.

“Anything.” Mrs. Holmes smiled as she spoke.

“Marry my son and never let him feel unwanted again. As for Sherlock, keep him away from drugs and near John Watson. And never let him stop solving cases, it is what he loves. And everyone in life should have what they love.” A tear fell to the floor as Greg held her hand. A mother’s love and wisdom never failed to move Greg. He stood and wiped his tears as the three men moved back into the room.

_The world is losing an amazing woman, Greg thought, and an even better mum._

 

* * *

 

Mrs. Holmes held out for 2 more days before her illness overcame her.

A small ceremony was held for her in the yard of the house she had lived with the love of her life in, raised her children in and had made a countless number of memories in.  

John stood steady next to Sherlock throughout the ceremony, Greg next to Mycroft, and both of the Holmes boys’ on either side of their father. Few tears were shed and at the end of the ceremony, their father wished to be alone, and everyone listened.

Greg and Mycroft drove back to London in a quiet car, the only noise being Mycroft drumming his nails along the door handle. As they pulled up to Mycroft’s house, the eldest Holmes quickly exited the car and went into the house. Greg decided to give the man a few moments to himself. His mother had just died for Christ sake.

When Greg finally went into the house, the image of Mycroft on the floor of his bedroom nearly broke the policeman.

His suit was wrinkled, his cufflinks thrown across the room and tears pouring down his face. Mycroft Holmes, for the first time in his life, was truly broken. No matter how tightly Greg held Mycroft, he would never be able to put him back together again.

Greg sat next to him on the floor and held him tightly, whispering what comforting words he could think of in his ear.

In this moment, caring truly was a not an advantage.


End file.
